


The Horror

by symbioticSimplicity



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave is the dancing queen, Gen, JUST, This is really self indulgent, i need ballet dave like i need life, imagine weaponized ballet in fights, mind karkat's cussing I guess, picture it, technically also a song fic, young and sweet only sixteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:31:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symbioticSimplicity/pseuds/symbioticSimplicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave does ballet and a few other tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horror

**Author's Note:**

> This is so canon fight me. The song is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Y_hZfUqeFM here ^~^

 

Dave Strider has been the biggest fucking mystery you’ve ever had the dubious misfortune of diving into. The kid ranges from the biggest fucking goofball imaginable, rivaled only by John Egbert and even that’s tentative, to the deadliest motherfucker on the meteor, 100% not to be fucked with. It’s stupid and he’s stupid and it’s frankly frustrating to watch.

So when you walk in on him dancing it’s not really surprising but at the same time _what the actual fuck._

He’s got some song on that sounds like he might’ve mixed it himself with all the weird electronic noises constituting the beat. But the voice isn’t familiar and Dave’s mixes are always a bit rougher around the edges so it’s probably not one of his. Not that you really spend all that much time trying to puzzle it out because HOLY FUCKING SHIT DAVE STRIDER IS DANCING INFORM THE AUTHORITIES BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS CRIMINAL.

Like him, it’s not anything you would have expected. You’ve pretty much given up expectations when it comes to him, but still. He’s quick, almost too quick to really read his motions. You don’t understand how the human body works very well to begin with but you _know_ male’s hips aren’t supposed to do that. But apparently Dave’s hips think fuck all about supposed to’s. They move like the pendulum in an old stand up clock, and then they curl back like a slitherbeast and do this _thing_ that can only be described as gyrating. You fucking hate that word and hope to never use it again.

While his hips are busy giving nature the finger, he’s started to vary his footwork again. It’s complicated and considering you’ve seen him literally trip over nothing you’re surprised. You’re getting sick of that feeling.

Despite the fact that he’s whirled your way several times, he’s not stopped or made really any indication that he cares that you’re watching at all. You might’ve caught the edge of a smile but he turned too fast to really tell.

_Are you tired of being human?_

That line catches your attention for some reason. Considering that Dave is one of eight humans actually still alive, it surprises you he’d be dancing to something like that. The beat suited him yeah, so maybe that was it.

He starts to change up his style a little, less of those smooth rolling curves and more harsh lines you’re reasonably sure he could break a board with. If you were confused before, you’re like a seadweller out of water now.

 He’s on the tips of his toes, and you do mean the very tips of them, and he’s all lines and gravity evidently isn’t a thing that applies to him. He leaps over himself and his limbs slash through the air in something reminiscent of combat. But every time he lands, his hands are all soft and relaxed and _how in the fuck is that even possible?_ How can someone carry that much tension in their body and still have that much grace and ease?

_The horrors you must face when you’re part of the human race._

Oh. Oh that’s— _Oh._ You’re sure a convulsion like that should panic you rather than awe you, but the way his torso just moved was seriously fucking ridiculous. He doesn’t have the flesh lumps that human females have so there shouldn’t have been enough momentum to—fuck it. Dave makes no sense. Dave fucking Strider is the anomaly. It is him. You’re just going to enjoy the paradox while it lasts.

He’s started to put both parts of his style into this insane thing that is probably the single most entertaining thing you’ve seen in at least a sweep. He connects the two with wide swinging movements and quick footsteps and you couldn’t look away if you tried. His white-blonde hair is starting to stick to his forehead and you know for sure you’ve seen him smile. It looks good, almost like a laugh might come next and wouldn’t that be a fucking miracle.

The song is mounting up to a drop, you can feel a weird sort of second hand excitement as Dave’s dance begins to build too. He’s somehow gotten faster and those brutal sharp moves have mixed with downward sweeps and crashes and _good fucking god he is majestic._ God save you from Dave Strider’s hips.

When the beat drops so does he, he kicks up with one leg pointed so straight you’re momentarily incredibly impressed with the human muscular system as there’s no way any troll could ever do that with the slight backward bend of the ankle joint. He brings his foot down in an arc, landing yet again on the tips of his toes and _bouncing_ into a horizontal roll in the air before landing solidly on his knees.

Your mouth is open.

He tumbles from there on his forearm and spins himself back to his feet. The song quickly finishes and leaves him heaving for breath but otherwise motionless. He’s smiling at you and your bloodpusher is in your nutrition chute.

“So?” He asks and his voice hardly wavers like that kind of exertion is perfectly normal for him.

“So what?” You reply because stunned or not you’re still an asshole.

His head moves slightly, suggesting he probably rolled his eyes behind his shades, “How’s the fucking weather Karkat? My joints have been aching like an old man in December after one too many evening strolls and I was wondering if the ever static nature of our oh-so homey space rock had suddenly shifted for no apparent fucking reason like having sunshine in the aforementioned winter month.”

You glare at him and you’re pretty sure he glares back. Fuck, why the hell is this asshole so difficult to be friendly at?

“I don’t dance for just anyone.” He folds his arms across his chest. He’s flushed under those shades and you’re going to think it’s from the cardio he just whipped out rather than embarrassment.

That would be ridiculous.

“Are you asking me to tell you how cool you are?” You ask and instantly you wish you had Dave’s time powers to go back in time and _punch yourself in the face oh my god._

He huffs but doesn’t seem too much more put out by you than usual, “I know I’m cool Kitkat. Like the fucking arctic tundra, so cool even polar bears recoil cause holy shit that kid is way too cool for us we gonna get frost bite.”

“You are insufferable.” You sigh, “But you’re not wrong. That was…pretty fucking cool. And if you ever bring up this conversation again I will gag you with your own entrails.”

Dave smiles again and you wonder for a second that he’s not the space player because you’d swear he’s got his own field of gravity when he smiles.

“Thanks Karkitten.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, assjacket.”


End file.
